Can music outlive the summer of Spotify? A 'has-been' hits replay

By Damian Cowell

The unintentionally hilarious Gold FM promo reassures me as Bryan Adams, that fitter 'n' turner of factory-forged fist-pumpers, belts out Summer of 69, snare drum cracking behind him like the mighty guns of the HMAS Jockcheese.

"Only the hits you love."

The good old days: Before Spotify et al, discovering new music was more labour-intensive.Credit:Simon Schluter

Next up (I know this, because they've been telling me for the last 10 ad breaks) is that 1985 juggernaut, Dream Academy's Life in a Northern Town. I had assumed people in a Northern town spoke like this: "Ee by gum! There's trouble at Mill!" It seems I was wrong. In fact, they chant in a kind of Klingon Ladysmith Black Mambazo: "Waya ma ma ma oomeedoomee dieyeah!" I guess Dream Academy stumbled upon the idea and thought: "This sounds like a Qantas ad! We're going to be rich!" So they sticky-taped on the rest of the song like a lean-to dunny on the Guggenheim.

"Only the hits you love" – as long as none of them were written in the last 20 years. And it works, if you believe survey results – VN Holden Commodore carloads of people tuning in because they want to relive the year 1984 – when Bryan Adams sang about the year 1969. Don't be fooled by Bryan: the man's a true post-modernist. He undoubtedly gets up in the morning and says to himself: "Today I'm going to write the future sound of nostalgia."

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And what songwriter wouldn't? There's a whole market devoted to anything that isn't new: radio stations, rebooted movies, days "on the green", comeback tours ... fair enough too. We has-beens need retirement income: roll over your super, Beethoven. But I fear for today's young songwriters. Because in 20 years' time, I don't reckon people yearning to be reminded of their lost youth will reach for something as limited as music.

Me and my Luddite mates, we're alien compared to today's generation. Back when "social network" meant the primary school working bee, there was only one way a sullen teenager like me could escape the drudgery of homework, or fumigating your bedroom – music. No visual stimulation. No virtual worlds. Just sound coming out of a speaker. As a result, I developed the career-(and relationship)-endangering skill of 4D imagination. When I listened to music I slipped through a portal into a world where it was OK to be me – in fact, almost cool to be me.

Luckily enough, some of the music I've made over the years has had the same effect on other people. I know this, because strange blokes in the supermarket thank me for changing their life. Changing their life! Can you believe it? For a generation where music was often the only refuge of the teenager, it's not that surprising. Nor is the lucre of the nostalgia market. And Gold FM.

"Only the hits you love."

I love Gold not just for the laughs – the songs sound new to me. That's because, in 1985 when commercial radio was going "waya mama", I was snootying around town with a pineapple haircut listening to Triple R, which prided itself on never playing anything as gauche as "hits". Triple R, like (some of) the music it played, was a ticket to enlightenment. I once asked music writer Michael Dwyer why everybody treated David Bowie as if he was Mahatma Gandhi, and that was his explanation: through Bowie, Dwyer discovered Brian Eno, Andy Warhol, the Stooges, soul music, George Orwell, and more.

Now? Well, the kids just Google it. Who needs music to be the portal? In fact, music is only one of many stimulants competing for the modern attention span. When superstar DJ Calvin Harris performs his songs to 100,000 at Wembley – by pressing "play" on his iPhone and pointing every now and then – I wonder what's in it for the kids. Why not save your money and just listen to the same songs on your OWN iPhone?

But I'm missing the point. The reason for sardine-ing into that vast crowd is the selfie, which says: "I was there. With 100,000 people at the Calvin Harris gig." For the average non-fanatic, music is the hip background sound to accompany the experience. The selfie will be what they're nostalgic about in 20 years' time. Not the world inside a Calvin Harris track. Maybe that's why a lot of modern music – brilliantly constructed with skill and taste by producers like SBTRKT, (or dckhd or whoever else is flvr f th mnth) – sounds like muzak when played at low volume: tasteful, cool, slightly melancholic and more at home in the lobby of a hotel.

Music no longer defines your lifestyle – it's the other way around. There aren't even any music shows on TV any more. Unless there's some "game" involved. There's no 'M' in MTV. And who am I kidding: even at Gold FM, "only the hits you love" – all seven of them, endlessly repeated – are just the ballast around the banter of "Everywoman, Funnyman and Jock", the completely interchangeable on-air team (if you don't believe me, check out the different, yet identical billboard ads on the M1).

Music just can't keep up. And now we have Spotify et al, where you can listen to any song ever recorded, but not actually OWN any of them. Not enjoying the track you're listening to? No problem – flick through until you find one you do. There might be a new David Bowie coming through who, if you invest time in them, will challenge you and take you on a revelatory journey. But who's got time for that when you can flick around until you find something you like hearing NOW?

"Only the hits you love."

OK, sorry, this is all getting a bit depressing. I'm off to write my next hit: "The summer of 99". (Well, I hope it's a hit. The washing machine's playing up again.)

Damian Cowell was formerly the voice of TISM. His Disco Machine will be touring their new album this summer.